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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32900-h.zip b/32900-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f32b594 --- /dev/null +++ b/32900-h.zip diff --git a/32900-h/32900-h.htm b/32900-h/32900-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cf9007f --- /dev/null +++ b/32900-h/32900-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1547 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rats In The Belfry, by John York Cabot. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rats in the Belfry, by John York Cabot + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rats in the Belfry + +Author: John York Cabot + +Release Date: June 19, 2010 [EBook #32900] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RATS IN THE BELFRY *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>Rats in the Belfry</h1> + +<h2>By JOHN YORK CABOT</h2> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January +1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote">This house was built to specifications that were strange +indeed; and the rats that inhabited it were stranger still!</div> + + +<p>This little guy Stoddard was one of the toughest customers I'd ever done +business with. To look at him you'd think he was typical of the mild +pleasant little sort of suburban home owner who caught the eight-oh-two +six days a week and watered the lawn on the seventh. Physically, his +appearance was completely that of the inconspicuous average citizen. +Baldish, fortiesh, bespectacled, with the usual behind-the-desk bay +window that most office workers get at his age, he looked like nothing +more than the amiable citizen you see in comic cartoons on suburban +life.</p> + +<p>Yet, what I'm getting at is that this Stoddard's appearance was +distinctly deceptive. He was the sort of customer that we in the +contracting business would label as a combination grouser and eccentric.</p> + +<p>When he and his wife came to me with plans for the home they wanted +built in Mayfair's second subdivision, they were already full of ideas +on exactly what they wanted.</p> + +<p>This Stoddard—his name was George B. Stoddard in full—had +painstakingly outlined about two dozen sheets of drafting paper with +some of the craziest ideas you have ever seen.</p> + +<p>"These specifications aren't quite down to the exact inchage, Mr. +Kermit," Stoddard had admitted, "for I don't pretend to be a first class +architectural draftsman. But my wife and I have had ideas on what sort +of a house we want for years, and these plans are the result of our +years of decision."</p> + +<p>I'd looked at the "plans" a little sickly. The house they'd decided on +was a combination of every architectural nightmare known to man. It was +the sort of thing a respectable contractor would envision if he ever +happened to be dying of malaria fever.</p> + +<p>I could feel them watching me as I went over their dream charts. +Watching me for the first faint sign of disapproval or amusement or +disgust on my face. Watching to snatch the "plans" away from me and walk +out of my office if I showed any of those symptoms.</p> + +<p>"Ummmhumm," I muttered noncommittally.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of them, Kermit?" Stoddard demanded.</p> + +<p>I had a hunch that they'd been to contractors other than me. Contractors +who'd been tactless enough to offend them into taking their business +elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"You have something distinctly different in mind here, Mr. Stoddard," I +answered evasively.</p> + +<p>George B. Stoddard beamed at his wife, then back to me.</p> + +<p>"Exactly, sir," he said. "It is our dream castle."</p> + +<p>I shuddered at the expression. If you'd mix ice cream with pickles and +beer and herring and lie down for a nap, it might result in a dream +castle.</p> + +<p>"It will be a difficult job, Mr. Stoddard," I said. "This is no ordinary +job you've outlined here."</p> + +<p>"I know that," said Stoddard proudly. "And I am prepared to pay for the +extra special work it will probably require."</p> + +<p>That was different. I perked up a little.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to turn over these plans to my own draftsman," I told him, +"before I can give you an estimate on the construction."</p> + +<p>George B. Stoddard turned to his wife.</p> + +<p>"I told you, Laura," he said, "that sooner or later we'd find a +contractor with brains and imagination."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It took fully two months haggling over the plans with Stoddard and my +own draftsmen before we were able to start work on the nightmare my +clients called their dream castle. Two months haggling in an effort to +make Stoddard relinquish some of his more outlandish ideas on his +proposed dwelling. But he didn't budge an inch, and by the time we'd +laid the foundation for the dream shack, every last building quirk he'd +had originally on those "plans" still held.</p> + +<p>I took a lot of ribbing from contractors in that vicinity once the word +got round that I was building Stoddard's house for him. It seems that +he'd been to them all before he got around to me.</p> + +<p>But I didn't mind the ribbing much at first. Even though Stoddard was a +barrel full of trouble hanging around the building lot with an eagle eye +to see that nothing was omitted, I had already cashed his first few +payment checks on the construction.</p> + +<p>He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra +trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I +couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot.</p> + +<p>Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the +devil's own time with Stoddard.</p> + +<p>He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of +course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he +wanted!</p> + +<p>"The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me +up to squawk indignantly.</p> + +<p>"But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead. +"Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned."</p> + +<p>"Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome +client would demand.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I'd admit. "But saf—"</p> + +<p>"Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of +course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it.</p> + +<p>The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed +up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which +were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste.</p> + +<p>But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed.</p> + +<p>If you can picture a gigantic igloo fronted by southern mansion pillars +and dotted with eighteenth century gables, and having each wing done in +a combination early Mexican and eastern Mosque style, you'll have just +the roughest idea of what it was beginning to look like. For miles +around, people were driving out to see that house in the evenings after +construction men had left.</p> + +<p>But the Stoddards were pleased. They were as happy about the whole mess +as a pair of kids erecting a Tarzan dwelling in a tree. And the extra +compensations I was getting for the additional trouble wasn't hurting me +any.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I'll never forget the day when we completed the tiny belfry which topped +off the monstrosity. Yes, a belfry. Just the kind you still see on +little country churches and schoolhouses, only, of course a trifle +different.</p> + +<p>The Stoddards had come out to the lot to witness this momentous event; +the completion, practically, of their dream child.</p> + +<p>I was almost as happy as they were, for it stood as the symbol of the +ending of almost all the grief for me.</p> + +<p>My foreman came over to where I was standing with the Stoddards.</p> + +<p>"You gonna put a bell in that belfry?" he asked.</p> + +<p>George Stoddard looked at him as if he'd gone mad.</p> + +<p>"What for?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"So you can <i>use</i> the belfry," the foreman said.</p> + +<p>"Don't be so ridiculous, my good man," Stoddard snorted. "It will be of +pleasurable use enough to us, just <i>looking</i> at it."</p> + +<p>When the foreman had marched off, scratching his head, I turned to the +Stoddards.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's almost done," I said. "Pleased with it?"</p> + +<p>Stoddard beamed. "You have no idea, Mr. Kermit," he said solemnly, "what +a tremendous moment this is for my wife and me."</p> + +<p>I looked at the plain, drab, smiling Laura Stoddard. From the shine in +her eyes, I guess Stoddard meant what he said. Then I looked up at the +belfry, and shuddered.</p> + +<p>As I remarked before, even the belfry wasn't quite like any belfry human +eyes had ever seen before. It angled in all the way around in as +confusing a maze of geometrical madness you have ever seen. It was a +patterned craziness, of course, having some rhyme to it, but no reason.</p> + +<p>Looking at it, serenely topping that crazy-quilt house, I had the +impression of its being an outrageously squashed cherry topping, the +whipped cream of as madly a concocted sundae that a soda jerk ever made. +A pleasant impression.</p> + +<p>Stoddard's voice broke in on my somewhat sickish contemplation.</p> + +<p>"When will we be able to start moving in?" he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"The latter part of next week," I told him. "We should have it set by +then."</p> + +<p>"Good," said Stoddard. "Splendid." He put his arm around his wife, and +the two of them stared starry eyed at their home. It made a lump come to +your throat, seeing the bliss in their eyes as they stood there +together. It made a lump come into your throat, until you realized what +they were staring at.</p> + +<p>"Incidentally," I said casually, figuring now was as good a time as any +to get them used to the idea. "The startlingly different construction +pattern you've had us follow will result in, ah, minor repairs in the +house being necessary from time to time. Remember my telling you that at +the start?"</p> + +<p>Stoddard nodded, brushing the information away casually.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly I remember your saying something about that. But don't +worry. I won't hold you responsible for any minor repairs which the +unique construction causes."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," I told him dryly. "I just wanted to make certain we had that +point clear."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Stoddards moved in just as soon as the last inch of work on their +dream monster was finished. I paid off my men, banked a nice profit on +the job, and went back to building actual houses again. I thought my +troubles with the Stoddards at an end.</p> + +<p>But of course I was wrong.</p> + +<p>It was fully a month after the Stoddards had been in their madhouse that +I got my first indignant telephone call from George B. Stoddard himself.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kermit," said the angry voice on the phone, "this is George B. +Stoddard."</p> + +<p>I winced at the name and the all too familiar voice, but managed to +sound cheerfully friendly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, Mr. Stoddard," I oozed. "How are you and the Missus +getting along in your dream castle?"</p> + +<p>"That," said George B. Stoddard, "is what I called about. We have been +having considerable difficulty for which I consider your construction +men to be responsible."</p> + +<p>"Now just a minute," I began. "I thought we agreed—"</p> + +<p>"We agreed that I was to expect certain occasional minor repairs to be +necessary due to the construction of the house," Stoddard broke in. "I +know that."</p> + +<p>"Then what's the trouble?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"This house is plagued with rats," said Stoddard angrily.</p> + +<p>"Rats?" I echoed.</p> + +<p>"Exactly!" my client snapped.</p> + +<p>"But how could that be possible?" I demanded. "It's a brand new house, +and rats don't—"</p> + +<p>Stoddard broke in again. "The devil they don't. We have them, and it +can't be due to any fault but those construction men of yours."</p> + +<p>"How could it be their fault?" I was getting a little sore.</p> + +<p>"Because it isn't my fault, nor my wife's. And the building, as you +observed a minute ago, is practically new."</p> + +<p>"Now listen," I began.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd come out here and see for yourself," Stoddard demanded.</p> + +<p>"Have you caught any?"</p> + +<p>"No," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen any?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"No," Stoddard admitted, "but—"</p> + +<p>This time I did the cutting in.</p> + +<p>"Then how do you know you have rats?" I demanded triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Because," Stoddard almost shouted, "as I was going to tell you, I can +hear them, and my wife can hear them."</p> + +<p>I hadn't thought of that. "Oh," I said. Then: "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am very sure. Now, will you please come out here and see what +this is all about?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Okay," I said. "Okay." And then I hung up and looked around for my hat. +My visit wasn't going to be any fun, I knew. But what the hell. I had to +admit that if Stoddard and his wife were hearing noises that sounded +like rats, they had a legitimate squawk. For I built the house, and no +amount of crazy ideas in its design by Stoddard could explain the +presence of vermin.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Both the Stoddards met me at the door when I arrived out in the Mayfair +subdivision where I'd built their monstrosity. As they led me into the +living room, I caught a pretty good idea of their new home furnishings. +They hadn't changed ideas, even to the mixing of a wild mess of various +nations and periods in the junk they'd placed all around the house.</p> + +<p>They led me past an early American library table to a deep Moroccan +style couch, and both pulled up chairs of French and Dutch design before +me.</p> + +<p>Feeling thus surrounded by a small little circle of indignation, I began +turning my hat around in my hands, staring uncomfortably at my +surroundings.</p> + +<p>"Nice place you've got here," I said.</p> + +<p>"We know that," Stoddard declared, dismissing banalities. "But we'd best +get immediately to the point."</p> + +<p>"About the rats?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"About the rats," said Stoddard. His wife nodded emphatically.</p> + +<p>There was a silence. Maybe a minute passed. I cleared my throat.</p> + +<p>"I thought you—" I began.</p> + +<p>"Shhhh!" Stoddard hissed. "I want you to sit here and hear the noises, +just as we have. Then you can draw your own conclusions. Silence, +please."</p> + +<p>So I didn't say a word, and neither did mine hosts. We sat there like +delegates to a convention of mutes who were too tired to use their +hands. This time the silence seemed even more ominous.</p> + +<p>Several minutes must have passed before I began to hear the sounds. That +was because I'd been listening for rat scrapings, and not prepared for +the noises I actually began to hear.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard had their heads cocked to one side, and were +staring hard at me, waiting for a sign that I was catching the sounds.</p> + +<p>At first the noises seemed faint, blurred perhaps, like an almost +inaudible spattering of radio static. Then, as I adjusted my ear to +them, I began to get faint squeaks, and small, sharp noises that were +like far distant poppings of small firecrackers.</p> + +<p>I looked up at the Stoddards.</p> + +<p>"Okay," I admitted. "I hear the noises. They seem to be coming from +behind the walls, if anywhere."</p> + +<p>Stoddard looked smugly triumphant.</p> + +<p>"I told you so," he smirked.</p> + +<p>"But they aren't rat scrapings," I said. "I know the sounds rats make, +and those aren't rat sounds."</p> + +<p>Stoddard sat bolt upright. "What?" he demanded indignantly. "Do you mean +to sit there and tell me—"</p> + +<p>"I do," I cut in. "Ever heard rat noises?"</p> + +<p>Stoddard looked at his wife. Both of them frowned. He looked back at me.</p> + +<p>"No-o," he admitted slowly. "That is, not until we got these rats. Never +had rats before."</p> + +<p>"So you jumped to conclusions and thought they were rat noises," I said, +"even though you wouldn't recognize a rat noise if you heard one."</p> + +<p>Stoddard suddenly stood up. "But dagnabit, man!" he exploded. "If those +aren't rat noises, what are they?"</p> + +<p>I shrugged. "I don't know," I admitted. "They sound as if they might be +coming through the pipes. Perhaps we ought to take a look around the +house, beginning with the basement, eh?"</p> + +<p>Stoddard considered this a minute. Then he nodded.</p> + +<p>"That seems reasonable enough," he admitted.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I followed the amateur designer-owner of this madhouse down into the +basement. There we began our prowl for the source of the noise. He +snapped on the light switch, and I had a look around. The boiler and +everything else in the basement was exactly as I remembered it—in the +wrong place.</p> + +<p>There was an array of sealed tin cans, each holding about five gallons, +banked around the boiler. I tapped on the sides of these and asked +Stoddard what they were.</p> + +<p>"Naphtha," he explained, "for my wife's cleaning."</p> + +<p>"Hell of a place to put them," I commented.</p> + +<p>A familiar light came into Stoddard's stubborn eyes.</p> + +<p>"That's where I want to put them," he said.</p> + +<p>I shrugged. "Okay," I told him. "But don't let the insurance people find +out about it."</p> + +<p>We poked around the basement some more, and finally, on finding nothing +that seemed to indicate a source of the sound, we went back up to the +first floor.</p> + +<p>Our investigation of pipes and other possible sound carriers on the +first floor was also fruitless, although the sounds grew slightly +stronger than they'd been in the basement.</p> + +<p>I looked at Stoddard, shrugging. "We'd better try the second floor," I +said.</p> + +<p>I followed him upstairs to the second floor. Aside from the crazy belfry +just above the attic, it was the top floor of the wildly constructed +domicile.</p> + +<p>The sounds were distinctly more audible up there, especially in the +center bedroom. We covered the second floor twice and ended back up in +that center bedroom again before I realized that we were directly +beneath the attic.</p> + +<p>I mentioned this to Stoddard.</p> + +<p>"We might as well look through the attic, then," Stoddard said.</p> + +<p>I led the way this time as we clambered up into the attic.</p> + +<p>"Ever looked for your so-called rats up here?" I called over my +shoulder.</p> + +<p>Stoddard joined me, snapping on a flashlight, spraying the beam around +the attic rafters. "No," he said. "Of course not."</p> + +<p>I was opening my mouth to answer, when I suddenly became aware that the +noises were now definitely louder. Noises faint, but not blurred any +longer. Noises which weren't really noises, but were actually voices!</p> + +<p>I grabbed Stoddard by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Listen!" I ordered.</p> + +<p>We stood there silently for perhaps half a minute. Yes, there wasn't any +question about it now. I knew that the faint sounds were those of human +voices.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" Stoddard exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Rats, eh?" I said sarcastically.</p> + +<p>"But, but—" Stoddard began. He was obviously bewildered.</p> + +<p>"There's a sort of central pipe and wiring maze up here," I told him, +"due to the plans we were forced to follow in building this house of +yours. Those faint voices are carried through the pipes and wires for +some reason of sound vibration, and hurled up here. Just tell me where +you keep your radio, and we'll solve your problem."</p> + +<p>Stoddard looked at me a minute.</p> + +<p>"But we don't own a radio," he said quietly.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I was suddenly very much deflated.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly," Stoddard told me.</p> + +<p>I stood there scratching my head and feeling foolish. Then I got another +idea.</p> + +<p>"Have you been up in that, ah, ornamental belfry since you moved in?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Of course not," Stoddard said. "It's to look at. Not to peek out of."</p> + +<p>"I have a hunch the sounds might be even more audible up there," I said.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>I scratched my head. "Just a hunch."</p> + +<p>"Well it's a dammed fool one," Stoddard said. He turned around and +started out of the attic. I followed behind him.</p> + +<p>"You have to admit you haven't rats," I said.</p> + +<p>Stoddard muttered something I couldn't catch. When we got down to the +first floor again, Mrs. Stoddard was waiting expectantly for our +arrival.</p> + +<p>"Did you discover where the rats are?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>Stoddard shot me a glance. "They aren't rats," he said with some +reluctance. "The noises, we'd swear, are faint voices and sounds of +human beings moving around. Were you talking to yourself while we were +upstairs, Laura?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stoddard gave her husband a surprised look. "Who was there to talk +with, George?" she asked.</p> + +<p>I had had about enough of this. I was damned tired of trotting around +the weirdly laid out floors of the Stoddard home trying to track down +rats which weren't rats but voices.</p> + +<p>"If there are inexplicable echoes in this building," I said, "it is due +to the construction. And don't forget, you wanted it this way. Now that +I have proved to your satisfaction that you don't have rats, I might as +well go. Good day."</p> + +<p>I got my hat, and neither Stoddard nor his wife had much to say as they +saw me to the door. Their accusing attitudes had vanished, however, and +they both seemed even a trifle sheepish.</p> + +<p>It was two o'clock when I left them. I'd killed better than an hour and +a half prowling around the place, and another half hour driving out. I +was damned disgusted by the time I got back to my office.</p> + +<p>You can imagine my state of mind, consequently, some twenty-five minutes +after I'd been back in my office, when I answered the telephone to hear +Stoddard's voice coming over it.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kermit," he babbled excitedly, "this is George B. Stoddard again, +Mr. Kermit!"</p> + +<p>"What've you got now?" I demanded. "And don't tell me termites!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kermit," Stoddard gasped, "you have to come back right away, Mr. +Kermit!"</p> + +<p>"I will like hell," I told him flatly, hanging up.</p> + +<p>The telephone rang again in another half minute. It was Stoddard again.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kermit, pleeeease listen to me! I beg of you, come out here at +once. It's terribly important!"</p> + +<p>I didn't say a word this time. I just hung right up.</p> + +<p>In another half minute the telephone was jangling again. I was purple +when I picked it up this time.</p> + +<p>"Listen," I bellowed. "I don't care what noises you're hearing now—"</p> + +<p>Stoddard cut in desperately, shouting at the top of his lungs to do so.</p> + +<p>"I'm not only hearing the noises, Kermit," he yelled, "I'm <i>seeing</i> the +people who cause them!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>This caught me off balance.</p> + +<p>"Huh?" I gulped.</p> + +<p>"The belfry," he yelled, "I went up in the belfry, and you can see the +people who's voices we heard!" There was a pause, while he found breath, +then he shouted, "You have to come over. You're the only one I can think +of to show this to!"</p> + +<p>Stoddard was an eccentric, but only so far as his tastes in architecture +were concerned. I realized this, as I sat there gaping foolishly at the +still vibrating telephone in my hand.</p> + +<p>"Okay," I said, for no earthly reason that I could think of, "okay, hang +on. I'll be there in twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stoddard met me at the door this time. She was worried, almost +frightened, and very bewildered.</p> + +<p>"George is upstairs, Mr. Kermit. He won't let me come up there. He told +me to send you up the minute you arrived. He's up in the attic."</p> + +<p>"What on earth," I began.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," his wife said. "I was down in the basement drying some +clothes, when I heard this terrible yelling from George. Then he was +calling you on the telephone. I don't know what it's all about."</p> + +<p>I raced up to the attic in nothing flat, almost knocking my teeth out on +the bottom step of the attic stairs.</p> + +<p>Then I stumbled into the darkness of the attic, and saw Stoddard's +flashlight bobbing around in a corner.</p> + +<p>"Kermit?"</p> + +<p>It was Stoddard's voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered. "What in the hell is up? It had better be goo—."</p> + +<p>"Hurry," Stoddard said. "Over here, quickly!"</p> + +<p>I stumbled across the board spacings until I was standing beside +Stoddard and peering up at what the beam of his flashlight revealed on +the ceiling—a ragged, open hole, which he'd made by tearing several +coatings of insulation from the spot.</p> + +<p>For a minute, I couldn't make out anything in that flash beam glare. +Stoddard had hold of my arm, and was saying one word over and over, +urgently.</p> + +<p>"Look. Look. Look!"</p> + +<p>Then my eyes got adjusted to the light change, and I was aware that I +was gazing up into the interior of the crazy belfry atop the monstrous +house. Gazing up into the interior, while voices, quite loud and clearly +distinguishable, were talking in a language which I didn't recognize +immediately. As far as my vision was concerned, I might as well have +been looking at a sort of grayish vaporish screen of some sort, that was +all I saw.</p> + +<p>"Shhhh!" Stoddard hissed now. "Don't say a word. Just listen to them!"</p> + +<p>I held my breath, although it wasn't necessary. As I said, the voices +coming down from that belfry were audible enough to have been a scant +ten or twelve feet away. But I held my breath anyway, meanwhile +straining my eyes to pierce that gray screen of vapor on which the light +was focused.</p> + +<p>And then I got it. The voices were talking in German, two of them, both +harsh, masculine.</p> + +<p>"What in the hell," I began. "Is there a short wave set up there or—"</p> + +<p>Stoddard cut me off. "Can't you see it yet?" he hissed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The voices went on talking, while I strained my eyes even more in an +effort to pierce that gray fog covering the rent in the ceiling. And +then I saw. Saw at first, as if through a thin gray screen of gauze.</p> + +<p>I was looking up into a room of some sort. A big room. An incredibly big +room. A room so big that two dozen belfry rooms would have fit into it!</p> + +<p>And then it got even clearer. There was a desk at the end of the room. A +tremendously ornate desk. A desk behind which was sitting a small, gray +uniformed, moustached man.</p> + +<p>There was another uniformed person of porcine girth standing beside that +desk and pointing to a map on the wall in front of him. He was jabbering +excitedly to the little man at the desk, and he wore a uniform that was +so plushily gaudy it was almost ridiculous.</p> + +<p>The two kept chattering back and forth to each other in German, +obviously talking about the map at which the fat, plush-clad one was +pointing.</p> + +<p>I turned incredulously to Stoddard.</p> + +<p>"Wh-wh-what in the hell goes?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>Stoddard seemed suddenly vastly relieved. "So you see it and hear it, +too!" he exclaimed. "Thank God for that! I thought I'd lost my mind!"</p> + +<p>I grabbed hard on his arm. "But listen," I began.</p> + +<p>"Listen, nothing," he hissed. "We <i>both</i> can't be crazy. Those are the +voices we kept hearing before. And those two people are the talkers. +Those two German (five words censored) louses. Hitler and Goering!"</p> + +<p>There, he'd said it. I hadn't dared to. It sounded too mad, too wildly, +babblingly insane to utter. But now I looked back through that thin gray +cheesecloth of fog, back into the room.</p> + +<p>The two occupants couldn't be anyone other than Hitler and Goering. And +I was suddenly aware that the map Goering pointed to so frequently was a +map of Austria.</p> + +<p>"But what," I started again.</p> + +<p>Stoddard looked me in the eye. "I can understand a little German," he +said. "They're talking about an invasion of Austria, and if you will +look hard at the corner of that map, you'll see a date marked—1938!"</p> + +<p>I did look hard, and of course I saw that date. I turned back to +Stoddard.</p> + +<p>"We're both crazy," I said a little wildly, "we're both stark, raving +nuts. Let's get out of here."</p> + +<p>"We are looking back almost five years into the past," Stoddard hissed. +"We are looking back five years into Germany, into a room in which +Hitler and Goering are talking over an approaching invasion of a country +called Austria. I might have believed I was crazy when I first found +this alone, but not now!"</p> + +<p>Maybe we were both crazy. Maybe he was wrong. But then and there I +believed him, and I knew that somehow, in some wild, impossible fashion, +that belfry on Stoddard's asinine house had become a door leading +through space and time, back five years into Germany, into the same room +where Adolf Hitler and Hermann Goering planned the conquest of Austria!</p> + +<p>Stoddard was taking something out of his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Now that you're here I can try it," he said. "I didn't dare do so +before, since I felt I couldn't trust my own mind alone in the thing."</p> + +<p>I looked at what he held in his hands. A stone, tied to a long piece of +string.</p> + +<p>"What's that for?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"I want to see if that veil, that gray fog door, can be penetrated," he +hissed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Stoddard was swinging the stone on a string in a sharp arc now. And +suddenly he released it, sending it sailing through the grayish aperture +in the ceiling, straight into the belfry, or rather, the big room.</p> + +<p>I saw and heard the stone on the string hit the marble floor of that +room. Then, just as sharply, Stoddard jerked it back, yanking it into +the attic again.</p> + +<p>The result in the room beyond the fog sheet was instantaneous. Goering +wheeled from the map on the wall, glaring wildly around the room. A +pistol was in his hand.</p> + +<p>Hitler had half risen behind that ornate desk, and was searching the +vast, otherwise unoccupied room wildly with his eyes.</p> + +<p>Of course neither saw anything. Stoddard, breathing excitedly at my +side, had pulled the stone back into our section of time and space. But +his eyes were gleaming.</p> + +<p>"It can be done," he whispered fiercely. "It can be crossed!"</p> + +<p>"But what on—" I started. He cut me off with a wave of his hand, +pointing back to the gray screen covering the hole in the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Goering had put the pistol back in the holster at his side, and was +grinning sheepishly at der Fuehrer, who was resuming his seat behind the +desk in confused and angry embarrassment.</p> + +<p>The voices picked up again.</p> + +<p>"They're saying how silly, to be startled by a sound," Stoddard hissed +in my ear.</p> + +<p>Then he grabbed my arm. "But come, we can't wait any longer. Something +has to be done immediately."</p> + +<p>He was pulling me away from the rent in the ceiling, away from the door +that had joined our time and space to the time and space of a world and +scene five years ago.</p> + +<p>As we emerged from the attic and started blinkingly down the steps, +Stoddard almost ran ahead of me.</p> + +<p>"We must hurry," he said again and again.</p> + +<p>"To where?" I demanded bewilderedly. "Hadn't we better do something +about th—"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," Stoddard panted. "We're really going to do something about +that phenomenon in the belfry. We're going to the first place in two +where we can buy two rifles, quick!"</p> + +<p>"Rifles?" I gasped, still not getting it.</p> + +<p>"For that little moustached swine up there," Stoddard said, pointing +toward the attic. "If a stone can cross that gray barrier, so can +bullets. We are both going to draw bead on Adolf Hitler in the year of +1938, and thus avert this hell he's spread since then. With two of us +firing, we can't miss."</p> + +<p>And then, of course, I got it. It was incredible, impossible. But that +gray screen covering the rent in the attic ceiling upstairs wasn't +impossible. I'd seen it. Neither was the room behind it, the room where +the belfry was supposed to be, but where Adolf Hitler's inner sanctum +was instead. I'd seen that, too. So was it impossible that we'd be able +to eliminate the chief cause of the world's trouble by shooting +accurately back across time and space?</p> + +<p>At that moment I didn't think so!</p> + +<p>Our mad clattering dash down the attic steps, and then down to the first +floor brought Mrs. Stoddard up from the basement. She looked +frightenedly from her husband to me, then back to him again.</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" she quavered.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," Stoddard said, pushing her gently but quickly aside as we +dashed for the door.</p> + +<p>"But, George!" Mrs. Stoddard shrilled behind us. We heard her footsteps +hurrying toward the door, even as we were out of it.</p> + +<p>"My car," I yelled. "It's right in front. I know the closest place where +we can get the guns!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Stoddard and I piled into the car like a pair of high school kids when +the last bell rings. Then I was gunning the motor, while out of the +corner of my eye I could see Stoddard's wife running down the front +steps shouting shrilly after us.</p> + +<p>We jumped from the curb like a plane from a catapult, doing fifty by my +quick shift to second gear. Then we were tearing the quiet streets of +Mayfair's second subdivision apart with the noise of a blasting horn and +a snarling motor.</p> + +<p>It was ten minutes later when I screeched to a stop in front of the +sports and gun store I'd remembered existed in Mayfair's first +subdivision. The clerk was amazed at the wild speed with which we raced +in, grabbed the guns, threw the money on the counter, and dashed out.</p> + +<p>We must have looked like something out of a gangster movie as we raced +back to Stoddard's place.</p> + +<p>I was doing the driving, and Stoddard had clambered in beside me, both +rifles, and several cartridge packages in his hands. He was rocking back +and forth in mad impatience, as if by rocking he could increase our +speed. The expression on his face was positively bloodthirsty.</p> + +<p>And then we heard the sirens behind us. Shrill, coming up like comet +wails in spite of our own speed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" Stoddard groaned. "Police!"</p> + +<p>I squinted up into my rear vision mirror. We were less than two blocks +from the Stoddard house, now, and the thought of being overhauled by +police at the juncture was sickening, unbearable even to contemplate.</p> + +<p>And then I saw the reason for the sirens. Saw them in the rear vision +mirror. Two fire engines, one a hook and ladder outfit, the other a hose +truck!</p> + +<p>"It's all right," I yelped. "It's only two fire trucks!"</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" Stoddard gasped.</p> + +<p>We were a block from his place now, with only one corner left to turn +before we'd see the mad architectural monstrosity he called him home; +before we'd see the crazy belfry which held the salvation of the world +in its screwballish, queer-angled lines.</p> + +<p>And then the fire trucks and the sirens were nearer and louder, less +than a block behind us. At that instant we turned the corner and came +into full view of the Stoddard place.</p> + +<p>It was a mass of flames, utterly, roaringly ablaze!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>It was tragedy! The house was in flames; the rats would escape....</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>I almost drove us off the street and into a tree. And by the time I'd +gotten a grip on myself, we were just a few houses away from the blazing +inferno of Stoddard's crazy quilt dwelling.</p> + +<p>I stopped by the curb, and clambered out of the car onto knees which +would scarcely support me. My stomach was turning over and over in an +apparently endless series of nauseating somersaults.</p> + +<p>Stoddard, white-faced, frozen, stood there beside me, clutching the guns +and the cartridge boxes foolishly in his hands.</p> + +<p>Then someone was running up to us. Running and crying sobbingly, +breathlessly. It was Stoddard's wife.</p> + +<p>The fire trucks screeched to a stop before the blazing building at that +instant, and her first words were drowned in the noise they made.</p> + +<p>"... just drying out some clothes, George," she sobbed. "Just drying +them out and turned on the furnace to help dry them. You left like that, +and I got frightened. I ran to a neighbor's. The explosion and fire +started not five minutes later."</p> + +<p>Sickly, I thought of the naphtha Stoddard had piled near his boiler. I +didn't say anything, though, for I knew he was thinking of it also.</p> + +<p>He dropped the guns and cartridge boxes, and in a tight, strained voice, +while putting his arms comfortingly around his wife, said: "That's all +right, Laura. It wasn't your fault. We'll have another house like this. +So help me God, <i>just like this</i>!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It has been six months now since Stoddard's architectural eyesight +burned to the ground. He started rebuilding immediately after that. I +turned over all the drafts my company made from his first crude "plans," +and he handed them to the supervisor of the construction company he +bought out. You see, he took every dime he owned, sold out his insurance +business, and has gone into the building game in dead earnest.</p> + +<p>He explained it to me this way.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go on having house after house built and torn down on the +same spot, Kermit. It would break me in no time. This way, with my own +company to construct the house every time, I'll save about half each +time."</p> + +<p>"Then you're going to build precisely the same house?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>His jaw went hard, and he peered from behind his spectacles with the +intense glare of a fanatic. For once he didn't look like Mr. +Suburbanite.</p> + +<p>"You know damned well I am," he said. "And until it is <i>precisely</i> the +same as the first, I'll keep tearing 'em down and putting 'em up again. +I don't care if I have to build a thousand to do it, right on this +spot!"</p> + +<p>Of course I knew what he meant by precisely the same. And I wondered +what on earth the odds were he was bucking. Through chance and a mad +combination of angles, that time and space door had appeared the first +time. But it might have been hanging on the tiniest atom of a fractional +difference.</p> + +<p>Stoddard has already finished his second house, and although it <i>looks</i> +exactly like the monstrosity I first built for him, it can't be +<i>precisely</i> like it. For he didn't get the gray shrouded door when he +poked a hole in the attic ceiling and looked up into the second crazy +belfry. All he saw was the belfry.</p> + +<p>Tomorrow he starts tearing down to build another, and pretty soon people +are going to be certain he's crazy.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, they'll soon be pretty sure I'm loony also. For of +course I can't help going over there now and then to sort of lend a +hand....</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rats in the Belfry, by John York Cabot + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RATS IN THE BELFRY *** + +***** This file should be named 32900-h.htm or 32900-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/9/0/32900/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rats in the Belfry + +Author: John York Cabot + +Release Date: June 19, 2010 [EBook #32900] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RATS IN THE BELFRY *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Rats in the Belfry + + By JOHN YORK CABOT + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January +1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: This house was built to specifications that were strange +indeed; and the rats that inhabited it were stranger still!] + + +This little guy Stoddard was one of the toughest customers I'd ever done +business with. To look at him you'd think he was typical of the mild +pleasant little sort of suburban home owner who caught the eight-oh-two +six days a week and watered the lawn on the seventh. Physically, his +appearance was completely that of the inconspicuous average citizen. +Baldish, fortiesh, bespectacled, with the usual behind-the-desk bay +window that most office workers get at his age, he looked like nothing +more than the amiable citizen you see in comic cartoons on suburban +life. + +Yet, what I'm getting at is that this Stoddard's appearance was +distinctly deceptive. He was the sort of customer that we in the +contracting business would label as a combination grouser and eccentric. + +When he and his wife came to me with plans for the home they wanted +built in Mayfair's second subdivision, they were already full of ideas +on exactly what they wanted. + +This Stoddard--his name was George B. Stoddard in full--had +painstakingly outlined about two dozen sheets of drafting paper with +some of the craziest ideas you have ever seen. + +"These specifications aren't quite down to the exact inchage, Mr. +Kermit," Stoddard had admitted, "for I don't pretend to be a first class +architectural draftsman. But my wife and I have had ideas on what sort +of a house we want for years, and these plans are the result of our +years of decision." + +I'd looked at the "plans" a little sickly. The house they'd decided on +was a combination of every architectural nightmare known to man. It was +the sort of thing a respectable contractor would envision if he ever +happened to be dying of malaria fever. + +I could feel them watching me as I went over their dream charts. +Watching me for the first faint sign of disapproval or amusement or +disgust on my face. Watching to snatch the "plans" away from me and walk +out of my office if I showed any of those symptoms. + +"Ummmhumm," I muttered noncommittally. + +"What do you think of them, Kermit?" Stoddard demanded. + +I had a hunch that they'd been to contractors other than me. Contractors +who'd been tactless enough to offend them into taking their business +elsewhere. + +"You have something distinctly different in mind here, Mr. Stoddard," I +answered evasively. + +George B. Stoddard beamed at his wife, then back to me. + +"Exactly, sir," he said. "It is our dream castle." + +I shuddered at the expression. If you'd mix ice cream with pickles and +beer and herring and lie down for a nap, it might result in a dream +castle. + +"It will be a difficult job, Mr. Stoddard," I said. "This is no ordinary +job you've outlined here." + +"I know that," said Stoddard proudly. "And I am prepared to pay for the +extra special work it will probably require." + +That was different. I perked up a little. + +"I'll have to turn over these plans to my own draftsman," I told him, +"before I can give you an estimate on the construction." + +George B. Stoddard turned to his wife. + +"I told you, Laura," he said, "that sooner or later we'd find a +contractor with brains and imagination." + + * * * * * + +It took fully two months haggling over the plans with Stoddard and my +own draftsmen before we were able to start work on the nightmare my +clients called their dream castle. Two months haggling in an effort to +make Stoddard relinquish some of his more outlandish ideas on his +proposed dwelling. But he didn't budge an inch, and by the time we'd +laid the foundation for the dream shack, every last building quirk he'd +had originally on those "plans" still held. + +I took a lot of ribbing from contractors in that vicinity once the word +got round that I was building Stoddard's house for him. It seems that +he'd been to them all before he got around to me. + +But I didn't mind the ribbing much at first. Even though Stoddard was a +barrel full of trouble hanging around the building lot with an eagle eye +to see that nothing was omitted, I had already cashed his first few +payment checks on the construction. + +He'd meant what he said about his willingness to pay more for the extra +trouble entailed in the mad construction pattern we had to follow, and I +couldn't call him stingy with his extra compensation by a long shot. + +Financially, I was doing nicely, thank you. Mentally, I was having the +devil's own time with Stoddard. + +He didn't know a damned thing about architecture or construction, of +course. But he did know what he wanted. Good Lord, how he knew what he +wanted! + +"The basement boiler layout isn't what I had on my plans!" he'd call me +up to squawk indignantly. + +"But it isn't greatly different the way we have it," I'd plead. +"Besides, it's far safer than what you originally planned." + +"Is it humanly possible to put it where I planned it?" my troublesome +client would demand. + +"Yes," I'd admit. "But saf--" + +"Then put it where I planned it!" he would snap, hanging up. And, of +course, I'd have to put it where he'd planned it. + +The workmen on the job also presented a problem. They were getting fed +up with Stoddard's snooping, and going crazy laying out patterns which +were in absolute contradiction to sanity and good taste. + +But in spite of all this, the monstrosity progressed. + +If you can picture a gigantic igloo fronted by southern mansion pillars +and dotted with eighteenth century gables, and having each wing done in +a combination early Mexican and eastern Mosque style, you'll have just +the roughest idea of what it was beginning to look like. For miles +around, people were driving out to see that house in the evenings after +construction men had left. + +But the Stoddards were pleased. They were as happy about the whole mess +as a pair of kids erecting a Tarzan dwelling in a tree. And the extra +compensations I was getting for the additional trouble wasn't hurting me +any. + + * * * * * + +I'll never forget the day when we completed the tiny belfry which topped +off the monstrosity. Yes, a belfry. Just the kind you still see on +little country churches and schoolhouses, only, of course a trifle +different. + +The Stoddards had come out to the lot to witness this momentous event; +the completion, practically, of their dream child. + +I was almost as happy as they were, for it stood as the symbol of the +ending of almost all the grief for me. + +My foreman came over to where I was standing with the Stoddards. + +"You gonna put a bell in that belfry?" he asked. + +George Stoddard looked at him as if he'd gone mad. + +"What for?" he demanded. + +"So you can _use_ the belfry," the foreman said. + +"Don't be so ridiculous, my good man," Stoddard snorted. "It will be of +pleasurable use enough to us, just _looking_ at it." + +When the foreman had marched off, scratching his head, I turned to the +Stoddards. + +"Well, it's almost done," I said. "Pleased with it?" + +Stoddard beamed. "You have no idea, Mr. Kermit," he said solemnly, "what +a tremendous moment this is for my wife and me." + +I looked at the plain, drab, smiling Laura Stoddard. From the shine in +her eyes, I guess Stoddard meant what he said. Then I looked up at the +belfry, and shuddered. + +As I remarked before, even the belfry wasn't quite like any belfry human +eyes had ever seen before. It angled in all the way around in as +confusing a maze of geometrical madness you have ever seen. It was a +patterned craziness, of course, having some rhyme to it, but no reason. + +Looking at it, serenely topping that crazy-quilt house, I had the +impression of its being an outrageously squashed cherry topping, the +whipped cream of as madly a concocted sundae that a soda jerk ever made. +A pleasant impression. + +Stoddard's voice broke in on my somewhat sickish contemplation. + +"When will we be able to start moving in?" he asked eagerly. + +"The latter part of next week," I told him. "We should have it set by +then." + +"Good," said Stoddard. "Splendid." He put his arm around his wife, and +the two of them stared starry eyed at their home. It made a lump come to +your throat, seeing the bliss in their eyes as they stood there +together. It made a lump come into your throat, until you realized what +they were staring at. + +"Incidentally," I said casually, figuring now was as good a time as any +to get them used to the idea. "The startlingly different construction +pattern you've had us follow will result in, ah, minor repairs in the +house being necessary from time to time. Remember my telling you that at +the start?" + +Stoddard nodded, brushing the information away casually. + +"Yes, certainly I remember your saying something about that. But don't +worry. I won't hold you responsible for any minor repairs which the +unique construction causes." + +"Thanks," I told him dryly. "I just wanted to make certain we had that +point clear." + + * * * * * + +The Stoddards moved in just as soon as the last inch of work on their +dream monster was finished. I paid off my men, banked a nice profit on +the job, and went back to building actual houses again. I thought my +troubles with the Stoddards at an end. + +But of course I was wrong. + +It was fully a month after the Stoddards had been in their madhouse that +I got my first indignant telephone call from George B. Stoddard himself. + +"Mr. Kermit," said the angry voice on the phone, "this is George B. +Stoddard." + +I winced at the name and the all too familiar voice, but managed to +sound cheerfully friendly. + +"Yes, indeed, Mr. Stoddard," I oozed. "How are you and the Missus +getting along in your dream castle?" + +"That," said George B. Stoddard, "is what I called about. We have been +having considerable difficulty for which I consider your construction +men to be responsible." + +"Now just a minute," I began. "I thought we agreed--" + +"We agreed that I was to expect certain occasional minor repairs to be +necessary due to the construction of the house," Stoddard broke in. "I +know that." + +"Then what's the trouble?" I demanded. + +"This house is plagued with rats," said Stoddard angrily. + +"Rats?" I echoed. + +"Exactly!" my client snapped. + +"But how could that be possible?" I demanded. "It's a brand new house, +and rats don't--" + +Stoddard broke in again. "The devil they don't. We have them, and it +can't be due to any fault but those construction men of yours." + +"How could it be their fault?" I was getting a little sore. + +"Because it isn't my fault, nor my wife's. And the building, as you +observed a minute ago, is practically new." + +"Now listen," I began. + +"I wish you'd come out here and see for yourself," Stoddard demanded. + +"Have you caught any?" + +"No," he answered. + +"Have you seen any?" I demanded. + +"No," Stoddard admitted, "but--" + +This time I did the cutting in. + +"Then how do you know you have rats?" I demanded triumphantly. + +"Because," Stoddard almost shouted, "as I was going to tell you, I can +hear them, and my wife can hear them." + +I hadn't thought of that. "Oh," I said. Then: "Are you sure?" + +"Yes, I am very sure. Now, will you please come out here and see what +this is all about?" he demanded. + +"Okay," I said. "Okay." And then I hung up and looked around for my hat. +My visit wasn't going to be any fun, I knew. But what the hell. I had to +admit that if Stoddard and his wife were hearing noises that sounded +like rats, they had a legitimate squawk. For I built the house, and no +amount of crazy ideas in its design by Stoddard could explain the +presence of vermin. + + * * * * * + +Both the Stoddards met me at the door when I arrived out in the Mayfair +subdivision where I'd built their monstrosity. As they led me into the +living room, I caught a pretty good idea of their new home furnishings. +They hadn't changed ideas, even to the mixing of a wild mess of various +nations and periods in the junk they'd placed all around the house. + +They led me past an early American library table to a deep Moroccan +style couch, and both pulled up chairs of French and Dutch design before +me. + +Feeling thus surrounded by a small little circle of indignation, I began +turning my hat around in my hands, staring uncomfortably at my +surroundings. + +"Nice place you've got here," I said. + +"We know that," Stoddard declared, dismissing banalities. "But we'd best +get immediately to the point." + +"About the rats?" I asked. + +"About the rats," said Stoddard. His wife nodded emphatically. + +There was a silence. Maybe a minute passed. I cleared my throat. + +"I thought you--" I began. + +"Shhhh!" Stoddard hissed. "I want you to sit here and hear the noises, +just as we have. Then you can draw your own conclusions. Silence, +please." + +So I didn't say a word, and neither did mine hosts. We sat there like +delegates to a convention of mutes who were too tired to use their +hands. This time the silence seemed even more ominous. + +Several minutes must have passed before I began to hear the sounds. That +was because I'd been listening for rat scrapings, and not prepared for +the noises I actually began to hear. + +Mr. and Mrs. Stoddard had their heads cocked to one side, and were +staring hard at me, waiting for a sign that I was catching the sounds. + +At first the noises seemed faint, blurred perhaps, like an almost +inaudible spattering of radio static. Then, as I adjusted my ear to +them, I began to get faint squeaks, and small, sharp noises that were +like far distant poppings of small firecrackers. + +I looked up at the Stoddards. + +"Okay," I admitted. "I hear the noises. They seem to be coming from +behind the walls, if anywhere." + +Stoddard looked smugly triumphant. + +"I told you so," he smirked. + +"But they aren't rat scrapings," I said. "I know the sounds rats make, +and those aren't rat sounds." + +Stoddard sat bolt upright. "What?" he demanded indignantly. "Do you mean +to sit there and tell me--" + +"I do," I cut in. "Ever heard rat noises?" + +Stoddard looked at his wife. Both of them frowned. He looked back at me. + +"No-o," he admitted slowly. "That is, not until we got these rats. Never +had rats before." + +"So you jumped to conclusions and thought they were rat noises," I said, +"even though you wouldn't recognize a rat noise if you heard one." + +Stoddard suddenly stood up. "But dagnabit, man!" he exploded. "If those +aren't rat noises, what are they?" + +I shrugged. "I don't know," I admitted. "They sound as if they might be +coming through the pipes. Perhaps we ought to take a look around the +house, beginning with the basement, eh?" + +Stoddard considered this a minute. Then he nodded. + +"That seems reasonable enough," he admitted. + + * * * * * + +I followed the amateur designer-owner of this madhouse down into the +basement. There we began our prowl for the source of the noise. He +snapped on the light switch, and I had a look around. The boiler and +everything else in the basement was exactly as I remembered it--in the +wrong place. + +There was an array of sealed tin cans, each holding about five gallons, +banked around the boiler. I tapped on the sides of these and asked +Stoddard what they were. + +"Naphtha," he explained, "for my wife's cleaning." + +"Hell of a place to put them," I commented. + +A familiar light came into Stoddard's stubborn eyes. + +"That's where I want to put them," he said. + +I shrugged. "Okay," I told him. "But don't let the insurance people find +out about it." + +We poked around the basement some more, and finally, on finding nothing +that seemed to indicate a source of the sound, we went back up to the +first floor. + +Our investigation of pipes and other possible sound carriers on the +first floor was also fruitless, although the sounds grew slightly +stronger than they'd been in the basement. + +I looked at Stoddard, shrugging. "We'd better try the second floor," I +said. + +I followed him upstairs to the second floor. Aside from the crazy belfry +just above the attic, it was the top floor of the wildly constructed +domicile. + +The sounds were distinctly more audible up there, especially in the +center bedroom. We covered the second floor twice and ended back up in +that center bedroom again before I realized that we were directly +beneath the attic. + +I mentioned this to Stoddard. + +"We might as well look through the attic, then," Stoddard said. + +I led the way this time as we clambered up into the attic. + +"Ever looked for your so-called rats up here?" I called over my +shoulder. + +Stoddard joined me, snapping on a flashlight, spraying the beam around +the attic rafters. "No," he said. "Of course not." + +I was opening my mouth to answer, when I suddenly became aware that the +noises were now definitely louder. Noises faint, but not blurred any +longer. Noises which weren't really noises, but were actually voices! + +I grabbed Stoddard by the arm. + +"Listen!" I ordered. + +We stood there silently for perhaps half a minute. Yes, there wasn't any +question about it now. I knew that the faint sounds were those of human +voices. + +"Good heavens!" Stoddard exclaimed. + +"Rats, eh?" I said sarcastically. + +"But, but--" Stoddard began. He was obviously bewildered. + +"There's a sort of central pipe and wiring maze up here," I told him, +"due to the plans we were forced to follow in building this house of +yours. Those faint voices are carried through the pipes and wires for +some reason of sound vibration, and hurled up here. Just tell me where +you keep your radio, and we'll solve your problem." + +Stoddard looked at me a minute. + +"But we don't own a radio," he said quietly. + + * * * * * + +I was suddenly very much deflated. + +"Are you sure?" I demanded. + +"Don't be silly," Stoddard told me. + +I stood there scratching my head and feeling foolish. Then I got another +idea. + +"Have you been up in that, ah, ornamental belfry since you moved in?" I +asked. + +"Of course not," Stoddard said. "It's to look at. Not to peek out of." + +"I have a hunch the sounds might be even more audible up there," I said. + +"Why?" + +I scratched my head. "Just a hunch." + +"Well it's a dammed fool one," Stoddard said. He turned around and +started out of the attic. I followed behind him. + +"You have to admit you haven't rats," I said. + +Stoddard muttered something I couldn't catch. When we got down to the +first floor again, Mrs. Stoddard was waiting expectantly for our +arrival. + +"Did you discover where the rats are?" she demanded. + +Stoddard shot me a glance. "They aren't rats," he said with some +reluctance. "The noises, we'd swear, are faint voices and sounds of +human beings moving around. Were you talking to yourself while we were +upstairs, Laura?" + +Mrs. Stoddard gave her husband a surprised look. "Who was there to talk +with, George?" she asked. + +I had had about enough of this. I was damned tired of trotting around +the weirdly laid out floors of the Stoddard home trying to track down +rats which weren't rats but voices. + +"If there are inexplicable echoes in this building," I said, "it is due +to the construction. And don't forget, you wanted it this way. Now that +I have proved to your satisfaction that you don't have rats, I might as +well go. Good day." + +I got my hat, and neither Stoddard nor his wife had much to say as they +saw me to the door. Their accusing attitudes had vanished, however, and +they both seemed even a trifle sheepish. + +It was two o'clock when I left them. I'd killed better than an hour and +a half prowling around the place, and another half hour driving out. I +was damned disgusted by the time I got back to my office. + +You can imagine my state of mind, consequently, some twenty-five minutes +after I'd been back in my office, when I answered the telephone to hear +Stoddard's voice coming over it. + +"Mr. Kermit," he babbled excitedly, "this is George B. Stoddard again, +Mr. Kermit!" + +"What've you got now?" I demanded. "And don't tell me termites!" + +"Mr. Kermit," Stoddard gasped, "you have to come back right away, Mr. +Kermit!" + +"I will like hell," I told him flatly, hanging up. + +The telephone rang again in another half minute. It was Stoddard again. + +"Mr. Kermit, pleeeease listen to me! I beg of you, come out here at +once. It's terribly important!" + +I didn't say a word this time. I just hung right up. + +In another half minute the telephone was jangling again. I was purple +when I picked it up this time. + +"Listen," I bellowed. "I don't care what noises you're hearing now--" + +Stoddard cut in desperately, shouting at the top of his lungs to do so. + +"I'm not only hearing the noises, Kermit," he yelled, "I'm _seeing_ the +people who cause them!" + + * * * * * + +This caught me off balance. + +"Huh?" I gulped. + +"The belfry," he yelled, "I went up in the belfry, and you can see the +people who's voices we heard!" There was a pause, while he found breath, +then he shouted, "You have to come over. You're the only one I can think +of to show this to!" + +Stoddard was an eccentric, but only so far as his tastes in architecture +were concerned. I realized this, as I sat there gaping foolishly at the +still vibrating telephone in my hand. + +"Okay," I said, for no earthly reason that I could think of, "okay, hang +on. I'll be there in twenty minutes." + +Mrs. Stoddard met me at the door this time. She was worried, almost +frightened, and very bewildered. + +"George is upstairs, Mr. Kermit. He won't let me come up there. He told +me to send you up the minute you arrived. He's up in the attic." + +"What on earth," I began. + +"I don't know," his wife said. "I was down in the basement drying some +clothes, when I heard this terrible yelling from George. Then he was +calling you on the telephone. I don't know what it's all about." + +I raced up to the attic in nothing flat, almost knocking my teeth out on +the bottom step of the attic stairs. + +Then I stumbled into the darkness of the attic, and saw Stoddard's +flashlight bobbing around in a corner. + +"Kermit?" + +It was Stoddard's voice. + +"Yes," I answered. "What in the hell is up? It had better be goo--." + +"Hurry," Stoddard said. "Over here, quickly!" + +I stumbled across the board spacings until I was standing beside +Stoddard and peering up at what the beam of his flashlight revealed on +the ceiling--a ragged, open hole, which he'd made by tearing several +coatings of insulation from the spot. + +For a minute, I couldn't make out anything in that flash beam glare. +Stoddard had hold of my arm, and was saying one word over and over, +urgently. + +"Look. Look. Look!" + +Then my eyes got adjusted to the light change, and I was aware that I +was gazing up into the interior of the crazy belfry atop the monstrous +house. Gazing up into the interior, while voices, quite loud and clearly +distinguishable, were talking in a language which I didn't recognize +immediately. As far as my vision was concerned, I might as well have +been looking at a sort of grayish vaporish screen of some sort, that was +all I saw. + +"Shhhh!" Stoddard hissed now. "Don't say a word. Just listen to them!" + +I held my breath, although it wasn't necessary. As I said, the voices +coming down from that belfry were audible enough to have been a scant +ten or twelve feet away. But I held my breath anyway, meanwhile +straining my eyes to pierce that gray screen of vapor on which the light +was focused. + +And then I got it. The voices were talking in German, two of them, both +harsh, masculine. + +"What in the hell," I began. "Is there a short wave set up there or--" + +Stoddard cut me off. "Can't you see it yet?" he hissed. + + * * * * * + +The voices went on talking, while I strained my eyes even more in an +effort to pierce that gray fog covering the rent in the ceiling. And +then I saw. Saw at first, as if through a thin gray screen of gauze. + +I was looking up into a room of some sort. A big room. An incredibly big +room. A room so big that two dozen belfry rooms would have fit into it! + +And then it got even clearer. There was a desk at the end of the room. A +tremendously ornate desk. A desk behind which was sitting a small, gray +uniformed, moustached man. + +There was another uniformed person of porcine girth standing beside that +desk and pointing to a map on the wall in front of him. He was jabbering +excitedly to the little man at the desk, and he wore a uniform that was +so plushily gaudy it was almost ridiculous. + +The two kept chattering back and forth to each other in German, +obviously talking about the map at which the fat, plush-clad one was +pointing. + +I turned incredulously to Stoddard. + +"Wh-wh-what in the hell goes?" I demanded. + +Stoddard seemed suddenly vastly relieved. "So you see it and hear it, +too!" he exclaimed. "Thank God for that! I thought I'd lost my mind!" + +I grabbed hard on his arm. "But listen," I began. + +"Listen, nothing," he hissed. "We _both_ can't be crazy. Those are the +voices we kept hearing before. And those two people are the talkers. +Those two German (five words censored) louses. Hitler and Goering!" + +There, he'd said it. I hadn't dared to. It sounded too mad, too wildly, +babblingly insane to utter. But now I looked back through that thin gray +cheesecloth of fog, back into the room. + +The two occupants couldn't be anyone other than Hitler and Goering. And +I was suddenly aware that the map Goering pointed to so frequently was a +map of Austria. + +"But what," I started again. + +Stoddard looked me in the eye. "I can understand a little German," he +said. "They're talking about an invasion of Austria, and if you will +look hard at the corner of that map, you'll see a date marked--1938!" + +I did look hard, and of course I saw that date. I turned back to +Stoddard. + +"We're both crazy," I said a little wildly, "we're both stark, raving +nuts. Let's get out of here." + +"We are looking back almost five years into the past," Stoddard hissed. +"We are looking back five years into Germany, into a room in which +Hitler and Goering are talking over an approaching invasion of a country +called Austria. I might have believed I was crazy when I first found +this alone, but not now!" + +Maybe we were both crazy. Maybe he was wrong. But then and there I +believed him, and I knew that somehow, in some wild, impossible fashion, +that belfry on Stoddard's asinine house had become a door leading +through space and time, back five years into Germany, into the same room +where Adolf Hitler and Hermann Goering planned the conquest of Austria! + +Stoddard was taking something out of his pocket. + +"Now that you're here I can try it," he said. "I didn't dare do so +before, since I felt I couldn't trust my own mind alone in the thing." + +I looked at what he held in his hands. A stone, tied to a long piece of +string. + +"What's that for?" I demanded. + +"I want to see if that veil, that gray fog door, can be penetrated," he +hissed. + + * * * * * + +Stoddard was swinging the stone on a string in a sharp arc now. And +suddenly he released it, sending it sailing through the grayish aperture +in the ceiling, straight into the belfry, or rather, the big room. + +I saw and heard the stone on the string hit the marble floor of that +room. Then, just as sharply, Stoddard jerked it back, yanking it into +the attic again. + +The result in the room beyond the fog sheet was instantaneous. Goering +wheeled from the map on the wall, glaring wildly around the room. A +pistol was in his hand. + +Hitler had half risen behind that ornate desk, and was searching the +vast, otherwise unoccupied room wildly with his eyes. + +Of course neither saw anything. Stoddard, breathing excitedly at my +side, had pulled the stone back into our section of time and space. But +his eyes were gleaming. + +"It can be done," he whispered fiercely. "It can be crossed!" + +"But what on--" I started. He cut me off with a wave of his hand, +pointing back to the gray screen covering the hole in the ceiling. + +Goering had put the pistol back in the holster at his side, and was +grinning sheepishly at der Fuehrer, who was resuming his seat behind the +desk in confused and angry embarrassment. + +The voices picked up again. + +"They're saying how silly, to be startled by a sound," Stoddard hissed +in my ear. + +Then he grabbed my arm. "But come, we can't wait any longer. Something +has to be done immediately." + +He was pulling me away from the rent in the ceiling, away from the door +that had joined our time and space to the time and space of a world and +scene five years ago. + +As we emerged from the attic and started blinkingly down the steps, +Stoddard almost ran ahead of me. + +"We must hurry," he said again and again. + +"To where?" I demanded bewilderedly. "Hadn't we better do something +about th--" + +"Exactly," Stoddard panted. "We're really going to do something about +that phenomenon in the belfry. We're going to the first place in two +where we can buy two rifles, quick!" + +"Rifles?" I gasped, still not getting it. + +"For that little moustached swine up there," Stoddard said, pointing +toward the attic. "If a stone can cross that gray barrier, so can +bullets. We are both going to draw bead on Adolf Hitler in the year of +1938, and thus avert this hell he's spread since then. With two of us +firing, we can't miss." + +And then, of course, I got it. It was incredible, impossible. But that +gray screen covering the rent in the attic ceiling upstairs wasn't +impossible. I'd seen it. Neither was the room behind it, the room where +the belfry was supposed to be, but where Adolf Hitler's inner sanctum +was instead. I'd seen that, too. So was it impossible that we'd be able +to eliminate the chief cause of the world's trouble by shooting +accurately back across time and space? + +At that moment I didn't think so! + +Our mad clattering dash down the attic steps, and then down to the first +floor brought Mrs. Stoddard up from the basement. She looked +frightenedly from her husband to me, then back to him again. + +"What's wrong?" she quavered. + +"Nothing," Stoddard said, pushing her gently but quickly aside as we +dashed for the door. + +"But, George!" Mrs. Stoddard shrilled behind us. We heard her footsteps +hurrying toward the door, even as we were out of it. + +"My car," I yelled. "It's right in front. I know the closest place where +we can get the guns!" + + * * * * * + +Stoddard and I piled into the car like a pair of high school kids when +the last bell rings. Then I was gunning the motor, while out of the +corner of my eye I could see Stoddard's wife running down the front +steps shouting shrilly after us. + +We jumped from the curb like a plane from a catapult, doing fifty by my +quick shift to second gear. Then we were tearing the quiet streets of +Mayfair's second subdivision apart with the noise of a blasting horn and +a snarling motor. + +It was ten minutes later when I screeched to a stop in front of the +sports and gun store I'd remembered existed in Mayfair's first +subdivision. The clerk was amazed at the wild speed with which we raced +in, grabbed the guns, threw the money on the counter, and dashed out. + +We must have looked like something out of a gangster movie as we raced +back to Stoddard's place. + +I was doing the driving, and Stoddard had clambered in beside me, both +rifles, and several cartridge packages in his hands. He was rocking back +and forth in mad impatience, as if by rocking he could increase our +speed. The expression on his face was positively bloodthirsty. + +And then we heard the sirens behind us. Shrill, coming up like comet +wails in spite of our own speed. + +"Oh, God!" Stoddard groaned. "Police!" + +I squinted up into my rear vision mirror. We were less than two blocks +from the Stoddard house, now, and the thought of being overhauled by +police at the juncture was sickening, unbearable even to contemplate. + +And then I saw the reason for the sirens. Saw them in the rear vision +mirror. Two fire engines, one a hook and ladder outfit, the other a hose +truck! + +"It's all right," I yelped. "It's only two fire trucks!" + +"Thank God!" Stoddard gasped. + +We were a block from his place now, with only one corner left to turn +before we'd see the mad architectural monstrosity he called him home; +before we'd see the crazy belfry which held the salvation of the world +in its screwballish, queer-angled lines. + +And then the fire trucks and the sirens were nearer and louder, less +than a block behind us. At that instant we turned the corner and came +into full view of the Stoddard place. + +It was a mass of flames, utterly, roaringly ablaze! + +[Illustration: It was tragedy! The house was in flames; the rats would +escape....] + +I almost drove us off the street and into a tree. And by the time I'd +gotten a grip on myself, we were just a few houses away from the blazing +inferno of Stoddard's crazy quilt dwelling. + +I stopped by the curb, and clambered out of the car onto knees which +would scarcely support me. My stomach was turning over and over in an +apparently endless series of nauseating somersaults. + +Stoddard, white-faced, frozen, stood there beside me, clutching the guns +and the cartridge boxes foolishly in his hands. + +Then someone was running up to us. Running and crying sobbingly, +breathlessly. It was Stoddard's wife. + +The fire trucks screeched to a stop before the blazing building at that +instant, and her first words were drowned in the noise they made. + +"... just drying out some clothes, George," she sobbed. "Just drying +them out and turned on the furnace to help dry them. You left like that, +and I got frightened. I ran to a neighbor's. The explosion and fire +started not five minutes later." + +Sickly, I thought of the naphtha Stoddard had piled near his boiler. I +didn't say anything, though, for I knew he was thinking of it also. + +He dropped the guns and cartridge boxes, and in a tight, strained voice, +while putting his arms comfortingly around his wife, said: "That's all +right, Laura. It wasn't your fault. We'll have another house like this. +So help me God, _just like this_!" + + * * * * * + +It has been six months now since Stoddard's architectural eyesight +burned to the ground. He started rebuilding immediately after that. I +turned over all the drafts my company made from his first crude "plans," +and he handed them to the supervisor of the construction company he +bought out. You see, he took every dime he owned, sold out his insurance +business, and has gone into the building game in dead earnest. + +He explained it to me this way. + +"I couldn't go on having house after house built and torn down on the +same spot, Kermit. It would break me in no time. This way, with my own +company to construct the house every time, I'll save about half each +time." + +"Then you're going to build precisely the same house?" I demanded. + +His jaw went hard, and he peered from behind his spectacles with the +intense glare of a fanatic. For once he didn't look like Mr. +Suburbanite. + +"You know damned well I am," he said. "And until it is _precisely_ the +same as the first, I'll keep tearing 'em down and putting 'em up again. +I don't care if I have to build a thousand to do it, right on this +spot!" + +Of course I knew what he meant by precisely the same. And I wondered +what on earth the odds were he was bucking. Through chance and a mad +combination of angles, that time and space door had appeared the first +time. But it might have been hanging on the tiniest atom of a fractional +difference. + +Stoddard has already finished his second house, and although it _looks_ +exactly like the monstrosity I first built for him, it can't be +_precisely_ like it. For he didn't get the gray shrouded door when he +poked a hole in the attic ceiling and looked up into the second crazy +belfry. All he saw was the belfry. + +Tomorrow he starts tearing down to build another, and pretty soon people +are going to be certain he's crazy. + +As a matter of fact, they'll soon be pretty sure I'm loony also. For of +course I can't help going over there now and then to sort of lend a +hand.... + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rats in the Belfry, by John York Cabot + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RATS IN THE BELFRY *** + +***** This file should be named 32900.txt or 32900.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/9/0/32900/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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